The Perks of Being a Valentine
by FangamerBowiextreme
Summary: What's worse than being dumped on Valentine's Day? Not realizing the person you've been secretly in love with has been secretly loving you back.


**A/N - So here's a cute little holiday pick-me-up. I did this for an LFFL challenge, and it is my first ever attempt at a one-shot. I'm pleased with how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The Perks of Being a Valentine

* * *

Sarah rubbed a knuckle across her cheek as she sniffled. A black smear of makeup trailed along her finger in its wake. She sneered at it and looked away.

This was stupid. She was being stupid.

It was uncomfortably quiet. Or rather, what was uncomfortable was how pathetic the sounds of her crying were. She blinked hard and wiped at her eyes again. Flakes of mascara were falling into her eyes and now she had that bit of annoyance to deal with.

It was dark in the room, the only sources of light being a blue hue cast from the living room window and a single lightbulb lit in the kitchen on the other side of the apartment.

She should turn on the TV or something. Sitting alone, in the dark, in silence, was pitiful.

She leaned back and the sound of her red pleather jacket crinkling resounded in the void. She was still dressed. Still ready to walk out the door. She'd been sitting here wallowing for nearly an hour.

She sniffled again and sighed. Her legs crossed tightly and she bounced an impatient foot in the air as she struggled to get her shit together. She didn't even care about him. It wasn't even about him. Fuck that asshole.

She crossed her arms just as tightly and forced her posture to relax against the couch. She didn't so much as flinch when a hand reached out and brushed back her hair. She did however, close her eyes just briefly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she tensed her jaw before peering over at him. She hated him seeing her like this. Weak.

"I'm fine. Just…" she struggled, frustration getting the better of her. She smiled in spite of herself and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She kept her eyes lowered from him, sniffled, and shrugged.

Jareth tilted his head and cast an arm along the back of the couch.

"Something's quite clearly upsetting you. Enough to call me here." His voice was soft, his concern subtle. Hearing the smooth drawl of his voice after so long was, in some sense, making her even more upset.

"I'm sorry. I didn't...mean to." She took a deep breath and looked towards the ceiling. Having him here beside her felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest. She was glad it was so dark. He might have seen how relieved she was.

It'd been like this for many years now. Apparently, the ability to summon those she needed was not limited to Hoggle and friends. Over the ten years since she ran the Labyrinth, she'd seen Jareth more than any of them. So often that it had become natural to the both of them. When she needed him, he was there. It was that simple. However, the question of_ why _she needed_ him _often went unanswered.

At first, the encounters were jarring, awkward, but after a few years they simply grew comfortable with one another, she supposed. He never regarded her with impatience, or resentment, only an open expression as she explained what was going wrong in her life at that particular moment.

It'd been two years since she'd last seen him. Sometimes the stretch was no more than a couple of months, which made this latest interlude the longest yet. The longest amount of time she'd gone without hearing the sound of his voice, seeing his pale-blue eyes, focused and entirely on her, or the glimmer of fang that showed when he smiled, or smelled the gentle waft of leather and another world. She felt shameful really. He was always forced to come to her. Her wishes were always subconscious. She didn't want to bother him. She didn't want to _need _him. And yet, here they were. Sitting on her couch, alone, in the dark, again.

"You look nice," he said, and again her spiteful smile stretched. She glanced down, over herself, remarking on the little black dress she was still wearing. She appreciated his disregard of her tears. He knew what a prideful creature she was.

"Heh, thanks. I was supposed to go out on a date tonight actually. It's Valentine's Day," she said, and leaned forward to press her hands against her temples. She sniffled one last time and then cast away the remainder of her tears. Ungracefully, she shrugged out of her coat and threw it on the floor. She clearly wasn't going anywhere.

"I forget...which holiday is that?"

"The one where couples try to overcompensate by commercializing their love with money and gaudy trinkets," she replied, bitterly. Jareth kept his eyes on her. Regardless of her melting eyeshadow, she really did look very nice. Her hair was down and curled in natural-looking waves, and shone brightly with the light of the moon behind her. Her lips, painted what he assumed was a bright red, were muted under the same silver hue.

"Ah," he said, and shifted forward as he repositioned the tails of his jacket. "Little Bryan still giving you trouble?"

If there was distaste behind those words he hid it well. He remembered a similar occasion, several years ago now, when she had summoned him -subconsciously- after a rather nasty lover's quarrel. He had offered to take the boy away for her, to drown him in the bog, but apparently she thought he was joking. He didn't like seeing her like this. And it seemed, more often than not, such circumstances were the only ones that ever brought him to her.

"Bryan? Who? Oh. No. No, that ended a long time ago," she said, shaking her head as a foul memory rose and faded from her mind. Jareth cocked his head and leaned towards her slightly. Without her coat, he saw the pale skin of her shoulder leading to her arm and delicate wrist. His eyes traveled down absently.

"Really…" was all he said.

She had changed significantly over the years. She was taller, thinner, the contours of her face sharper and more pronounced. She was indeed a woman, fully rounded, and equally jaded. As he stared at her, as he watched her grow, seemingly before his very eyes, he found himself wishing, with more and more sincerity, for her to simply_ ask_ for something, for anything, for the things he now so direly wished to give her. She never did. She never wanted anything from him.

"You don't celebrate Valentine's Day, right?" she asked, obviously trying to deflect from her issues.

"No. No, my people have no holiday dedicated to romance. Sex, certainly, but never romance." He watched her smile and laugh. It was a soft sound, something held back. However it was still genuine and he found himself smiling in return.

"Hm, seems safer that way." Her lips curled at the corners as she mused. She'd leaned forward to rest her chin on her hand, and gazed out at the blackened television.

"So what happened?" he asked, reaching out and surprising her by brushing away a stale tear from her cheek. He was wearing gloves. He always wore gloves. The feeling was as familiar to her as it was foreign. She turned to face him as he pulled his hand away.

"My boyfriend, Tim, just dumped me. Over text. On Valentine's Day. Literally, as I was walking out the door to go meet him at a stupid chocolate tasting party," she said, and rolled her eyes as if the whole scenario was absurd to begin with. Jareth's brow furrowed a little. She looked ashamed.

"I see… You must have really liked him," he said, which drew her attention. She looked over at him, locked eyes for the first time that night. God, he looked as good as she remembered. He was wearing all black, or colors that looked black under the circumstances. His lapels were embezzled with jewels that glittered and contrasted to the reflection of the night sky she saw in his eyes. His hair was perfect. Everything about him was always so damn perfect. He made sure to hold her gaze, and then he continued. "It isn't often a man can bring you to tears."

Sarah scoffed and looked away, leaning up and slouching back on the couch. If he only knew. She huffed and gestured at the television.

"Please. I cry at the end of The Notebook, every single time. Tears mean nothing." He wondered if she was trying to convince him, but he doubted it. Sarah had a strong personality, and those who crossed her were, in turn, crossed from her heart without a second thought. He admired that about her. But even still, he'd seen her cry far too many times. "It's my pride that's been wounded, honestly. I was actually looking forward to tonight. If he was planning on ending things, he could have done it before I bought the damn tickets." He said nothing to that, knowing she would probably start venting. He could sense how angry she was, though it was clearly with herself. She surprised him when instead she asked, "Will you stay?"

He heard her speak but he'd become distracted. He thought back on all the times she'd called to him, all the instances that deemed he was the one to fulfill her need. He was never sure why, why he of all people was what she needed or even of what he was supposed to be doing to help her. He left when those 'needs' had been met, when the magic that bound them waned and signaled his job had been done. She never asked him to stay. Never once.

"Yes."

Sarah left to change out of her clothes. It was about nine in the evening, so pajamas seemed appropriate attire. She cleaned up her face and came back to the room in a loose white shirt and flannel shorts. She suggested Jareth make himself comfortable as well, though his only actions towards such were crossing his boot-clad feet atop her coffee table. She went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"This was supposed to be for tonight. Seems a shame to let it go to waste. Would you like a drink?" she offered, and he accepted. She popped the cork and gave it a minute to breathe before pouring them each a glass. She handed one to Jareth and paused as their fingers touched. "Do you maybe...want to watch a movie?"

* * *

Because it was exactly what the occasion called for, they watched The Notebook. Jareth had obviously never seen it before, but it wasn't the first time they had watched a movie together. He was always greatly intrigued by the medium, just watching the way his eyes explored the screen always perked up her spirits.

They were quiet and sat closely together as they politely drank. Sarah didn't want to admit it, but even just sitting there she was starting to feel a little buzz. This wine was not cheap by any means, and even Jareth seemed to be appreciating the vintage. Noah was kissing Allie in the rain, and she found her toes curling awkwardly as her eyes roamed over to Jareth.

He'd never come on to her, in all these years. Never once looked at her with something perverse, or touched her in a way that was less than genteel. Even in the beginning. This unnerved her, deep down, for she was very, very much attracted to him. What did he really think of her? While he sat beside her and listened to her gripe, and bemoan, all of her problems and her exes. Surely, he resented her a little bit? He was a King. Surely he had better things to do...

But her eyes spying on him did not reflect this insecurity. No, they were brazen with the intrigue he so curiously lacked. He was still staring ahead, watching the movie with what seemed to be genuine interest. Her gaze lowered down his chest, pausing on all the little sparkles that caught the light of the TV, and she...set down her glass.

She laid down, stretched out, and placed her legs over his lap as if it were a casual gesture. His reaction was...naught. He caught one of her ankles and slouched back a bit, apparently receiving the gesture with as much disregard as she'd offered it. She turned her eyes back to the TV. Really, she was being a coward. She wanted to be close to him but had no idea how. She'd never had trouble gauging a man. And yet, she knew her trepidation stemmed from the knowledge that Jareth was so much more than that.

She was surprised when he agreed to stay, surprised because he never before did. Every time he'd come to her...just when she was starting to feel better, he would leave. Just like that. Sometimes without even a passing farewell. Worry that all the while he was secretly eager to get back to his own life had made it impossible to ask for him to stay. Why had she done so now? Where had the courage come from?

Courage. That's what she needed. And courage was what she had been drinking for nearly two hours. Her buzz was starting to hit her a little stronger now, warming her cheeks, but otherwise left her in possession of all faculty.

He always came when she needed him. He was always there when no one else would be. And she wanted…

The feeling of his hand running a gentle circle around her ankle broke her contemplation. His grip was soft, yet still possessive, and she melted at how natural his faint grin looked against the backdrop of her drab little apartment. He was happy to be there. To be with her. In silence. Alone.

She sat up and reached for the lapels of his coat.

"You're looking a little stiff in this coat," Sarah said, not exactly asking, nor waiting, for his consent as she began to pull at it. He leaned up and placed his glass on the table before obliging. He let her pull it down his arms, remarking on how slowly she did so. Like she was nervous. She kept her eyes lowered from him, but just when he was about to question her, she tossed the coat to the floor and moved to sit astride him. Her bare knees pressed against his hips and sunk into the couch. Jareth leaned back to watch her and tested her demeanor by letting his hands rest on her thighs. The contact left her seemingly unfazed, and she began to undo the buttons on his vest.

"What are you doing?" he asked, with little inflection. His voice was low, his eyes distracted. She was silhouetted by the light of the television, but the fabric of her shirt was thin, and pale, and showed him her contours perfectly. She worked at the buttons slowly, betraying her anxiety, which caused him to grip her thighs a little tighter. She'd never once come on to him. He was beginning to think he was the only one whose thoughts were less than chaste, who regarded this moment as...inevitable.

He let her pull his vest down and off of him, then leaned back to wait for her next move.

"You're here to fulfill my need, right?" she asked. He'd explained that to her the first time he'd appeared. Explained that magic deigned he was to provide what she lacked, and he could not leave until he had done so. However, now, she made those words, that compulsion, sound much more_ enjoyable._

She was limned by the light of rolling credits. Her eyes, though cast in shadow, were the brightest he'd ever seen.

"Yes," he answered, giving in to run his hands a little further up her thighs. Her shorts were devastatingly short, and he now wondered if she had worn such a thing with the intention of seducing him. If only he could believe there was someone who would put such consideration towards his needs.

He felt her toes wiggling as her eyes lowered down his chest. She was biting her lip, and her hands lightly traced the folds of his collar.

"Do you know what my need is, Jareth?" she asked, and met his gaze daringly. He inhaled, and felt a tick in his jaw. Her stare was intent and arousing, and he was already restraining himself. He was always restraining himself. The tip of her index finger touched the bare skin at the well of his throat and dragged down. "...Will _you_ be my Valentine?"

Her voice was sweet. Too sweet. Too innocent, and patient, and altogether inviting. He found himself licking his lips as his chest expanded on another firmly tamed breath.

"What exactly are the responsibilities of a Valentine?" he asked. His hands were now moving, snaking discreetly under the wide hem of her shorts as his splayed fingers grasped her ass. He caught the hitch in her breath the contact provoked, and pressed his thumbs a little harder into her hips. She felt warm, hot even.

She leaned forward, gripped the frill of his collar to steady herself, and brought her lips just a hair's breadth from his. Her eyes wilted, and he could feel the tingle of her lashes as they brushed his cheek.

"...You get to kiss me," she said, and closed her eyes. He felt her breath on him, and ran his tongue just barely along her lower lip, before she beat him to it and kissed him.

She held them there, and he let her, for a long moment, until he angled his head and urged her mouth open. He kissed her deeper then, with tongue and the faint scrape of teeth. She found herself leaning back, but his hands rose to brace her by the back of the neck and held her taut, as his tongue delved into her mouth and needlessly coaxed life into hers. She kissed him hungrily, agonizingly, with a sense of pent-up frustration she only just now learned even existed.

And he was the same. His eyes too had closed and the way he held her to him was filled with a level of need she never would have suspected. It was possessive, and hot, and intimate. She gave herself to that kiss, to the way he commanded her, and fed from her, and emboldened her own sense of selfish desire.

Her hands wove up into his hair and she savored the feel of it. She'd never touched him like this. Never more than an accidental brush of arm here or there. She wanted to feel him, to taste him, to own him and be owned by him. She pulled back from the kiss, a small half-smile curling her lips at the way he followed after her.

"And...you also get to touch me...however you wish." There was challenge in those words, excitement and yearning the likes Jareth had only dreamt about. For years he'd fought the urge to reach for her, to touch her in a way he presumed would repulse her. She always, time after time, year after year, belonged to someone else. Her regard of him had always been skeptical and hesitant, while he could do little more than admire and endure. My, how slow the process had been, how punishing it had become. As these last months passed, he came to fear she would never call for him again, that she had found eternal happiness far removed from the brooding forces that churned in the broken Underground.

She kissed him again, kissed him passionately. His hand wound into her hair and pressed her even closer.

"What do I get in return?" he asked, pulling her away only to nip at her lip as he spoke. Sarah panted, hot breaths flushing his face and pulling him back to distraction. Her hands left to press firmly down his chest, feeling the muscle, and bone, and hot skin beneath.

"I get to touch you back." Her words were breathy and she rocked atop his lap as his free hand roamed over her sides. Her shirt bunched and rose, exposing her waist to the cooler air of the room, and she gripped her knees tighter around him in response.

Jareth's hands moved under her shirt and constricted around her ribs. She took in a deep breath and her chest expanded. The underside of her breasts brushed his thumbs and he instinctively reached up to grasp them. They filled his hands, were soft, firm, and weighty, and he rolled her nipples as she gasped into his mouth. She had a beautiful body. He'd watched it grow, watched it change into something dangerous to any who dared look. Perhaps that was his misdoing; of all the things he held back from her, his gaze was never one of them.

She moaned again as he fondled her breasts. Her eyes were closed and she panted between kisses, her movements against him eager and becoming impatient. She reached down and pulled her shirt up and over her head. His mouth lowered from hers and found one of her nipples, sucking it in and curling his tongue around the hardening bud. She held him as he then kissed and tenderly nipped at the flesh of her breast. His mouth on her body was like cold fire, like nothing she'd ever felt before with any man. His hands, clad in leather, slid over her body in a sensation that sent shivers down her spine. Only with him would she feel such a thing.

She wanted more of him. All of him. She wanted him to feel as she felt.

She reached down between them and haphazardly pulled at the hem of his shirt. His pants were high-waisted, and she had no idea how to undo them, so she instead grasped him firmly over the fabric.

He was already hard, already straining against the thin material. She groaned in appreciation, jerking him until a stifled moan escaped him and he tore away from her chest.

The sound provoked her, deep and carnal, but distracted her enough to leave her blindsided as he turned and suddenly thrust her back against the seat of the couch. She bit her lips as she watched him rear over her, his thighs taut and flexed, and reached up to pull off his shirt and cast it to the floor. He nearly glowed in the moonlight, the pale, flawless skin of his torso being the only thing of focus against the shadowed backdrop of the room.

He leaned forward, grabbed the hem of her shorts, and yanked them off in one fell swoop. She gasped again, turned on by the minor display of aggression, and pressed her thighs together in an unwelcome moment of modesty. She never thought he would see her like this. Never thought he wanted to. And yet, his breath was as heavy as hers, his touch just as greedy.

He crouched over her and kicked off his boots. She scooted further up the couch and spread her legs as he nestled his hips between them. The feeling of his erection against her pubic bone sent her arching back, exposing her neck as he bit down on the vulnerable flesh. His arms went around her, his hands seeming to be everywhere. Her legs wound around him and pushed him down, making him grind harder against her.

The undulation and the promise was foreplay enough. She was wet and ready, he could feel it through the confines of his pants.

He wanted to ravage this woman. He wanted to lose himself in a way he never felt before. Did his longing really have such power over him? Why was he afraid she would open her eyes and send him away? Did he dare take the moment to breathe?

He scowled in frustration. Such thoughts had no place here.

The feeling of her hands gripping the backs of his shoulders was oddly soothing. He felt her nails penetrate his skin just barely, and drag down his spine. She was still breathing heavily in his ear, her heart beating wildly against his own.

He reached down and released himself, pulled himself back, and pressed into her.

He moved slow at first, but she was so open and welcoming that he found himself filling her effortlessly. He moaned on an exhale and stilled. The sound of her voice was too perfect, throaty, and full of surprise, as her body braced against him. She wasn't paying attention. She wasn't ready. They fit as if they were made for one another, and it was all she could do not to crumble to pieces.

She brought a hand to his face and turned him towards her, kissed him without preamble, and rocked her hips up to his. He groaned, the vibration into her mouth sending a tantalizing shiver straight to her core. His arms wrapped around her, and he began to move…

* * *

It was still dark outside, but Sarah knew it was morning. Her apartment was pitch black, but the fluorescent light of her desk lamp provided just enough luminance for her to gauge her surroundings. They were on the bed. She and Jareth. She was laying her head against his chest and trailed her fingers through the fine hair on his chest. They'd been quiet for a while, from the moment they'd swallowed each other's moans in blissful release. He was playing with her hair, his hand absently grazing her back as he did so. While their posture was relaxed, they each knew the other was wide awake. It seemed...there were still things left to say.

"...Are you going to leave?" she finally asked. Worry had been chipping away at her the longer they laid in silence. What was once contented turned perturbed, and she licked at her lip nervously.

She felt him shifting beneath her, his arm curling in an embrace as he turned to look down at her.

"I can't," he said, his eyes somewhat glazed as they roamed over her. She looked worried, and her brow furrowed accordingly. He reached for her chin and angled her as if to give her a kiss. He kept himself withdrawn however, and instead, a small smile curled one side of his mouth as he regarded her. "Your need has not yet been met."

"I...don't understand," she replied. She feared, more than anything, that he would simply vanish now that they were finished. That's what he always did, wasn't it? And yet, in reaction to his words, she came to fear for something else, that maybe it was their bond that had compelled him to sleep with her. That maybe his passion had been artifice. That maybe he…

"What you desired...was something more than sex." The way he spoke made her think he might have been unsure of himself, and yet the wry smile held strong. Catching her unease, the look humbled and he huffed, shifting further down to become eye-level with her. "It's always eluded me but...somehow I understand now," he continued, gently caressing her jaw. "Tonight was a wish...I've waited many years for you to make."

"What did I wish for?" she asked, her eyes blinking with a sense of disconcertion. She placed her hands against his chest, made sure to feel the beat of his heart, still fearful he might fade away at any moment.

He braced his arms around her and held her close. The magic that bound them was as strong as ever, their tether now, after all this time, cemented. It would not let him go. He brushed his thumb across her cheek as he stared at her. What did she wish for? What had she always been wishing for?

"To be with someone who loves you," he said, and closed his eyes as he kissed her; held her, as the tension fell slack from her body; and loved her, as they each realized they'd fallen in long ago.


End file.
